A Bear-Hunt in the Sierras 



thought, judging from the great inchoate mass 

 of brown fur, a pair, perhaps male and female, 

 or one, it might be, a yearling cub. With fin- 

 ger lifted I signaled Leonard to stop. A 

 great head was slowly raised and turned my 

 way. A bullet between the eyes and down it 

 went again, and I threw another cartridge into 

 the chamber, expecting to see the second bear 

 spring to his feet, ready to do whatever, in his 

 judgment, the occasion required, either to fight 

 or to run. Whichever he might elect to do, it 

 was well to be prepared. "Give him another 

 shot," said the prudent Leonard, and I fired a 

 second time, sending this ball quartering and, 

 like the first, through the brain ; then I realized 

 that there was but one, and he of creditable size. 

 We soon had him out in the open, for nothing 

 is easier to roll about than a bear just killed. 

 He is like a great jelly-fish, and I have seen a 

 little terrier no larger than a rabbit worry and 

 shake a great carcass four times as large as 

 the most commodious kennel he could desire, 

 provided he were a sensible pup and had the 

 comfortable instinct of wild things for snug- 

 ness rather than ostentatious display. Enough 

 of daylight remained for us to get his pelt off, 

 with head and claws unskinned and attached, 



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